Hot Drive

The sun beats down on my aging Citroen
sapping what's left of my spirit
on this goddamn drive to work
to an industrial estate hell
which even Satan would wince at.

The misery is punctuated only by girls

stripped to the bare minimum by the heat

revealing tanned flesh in all its glory

for a moment I forget about my in-tray

until I see my supervisor getting out of her Ford

a carriage straight from the underworld

paid for by misery and spite

and driven on pure arrogance.

I can see her legs

withered, veined and a sickly shade of death

the same fate that awaits my soul

I turn the car round and head home.